


Undone

by ALoza



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blowjobs, Fun, Kissing, M/M, Penetration, Sex, Smut, Swallowing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-26 00:32:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALoza/pseuds/ALoza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek just has a way of getting under Stiles' skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undone

Sometimes, the way Derek looks at him makes him so flustered he can barely handle his own existence. 

‘Hey, um, would you mind not looking at me like that. Thanks,’ he thinks, biting down on the inside of his cheek, feeling the white-hot smolder of Derek Hale’s gaze linger over his face. It’s not particularly a bad feeling, it’s just overwhelming. It’s actually almost too good, too exciting. 

Stiles would just prefer to able to breathe whenever they made eye contact.

But there he is, with his stupidly blue eyes, ice cold and persistent, dragging horribly and languidly slow down his body, like he’s just meat, nothing more than a meal. 

What makes him angry is that he can probably hear Stiles’ heart beating in his chest, all erratic and thundering like a rock concert, a riot burning behind his ribs. And he still doesn’t say anything, just sits there, staring.

Stiles busies himself with something else, anything else, a book, his cellphone, anything he can find at the bottom of his backpack. He really should clean it out, maybe even wash it. He hurriedly zips it up, not wanting Derek to smell it.

But then he remembers where they are, that they’re sitting in his room, and that Stiles should have the advantage, this is his turf, his battlefield. He should be navigating in smooth waters in the confines of his own four walls, but Derek seems to have dominance where he is. 

“So,” Stiles blurts, gesturing awkwardly with his pale, skinny fingers, “what, um, did you want to do? Cause, you know, as great as this silence is, I’d kinda like it to be, uh, done.”

Derek shrugs; silence is his forte. 

Stiles frowns. ‘You kidding me right now? Fuuuuck.’ 

His eyes flicker around the room; does Derek like to watch T.V.? How about video games? Who doesn’t like video games? Derek must like video games. Who is he kidding, Derek probably doesn’t like anything. He wonders what Derek does when he’s alone. Can Derek read? He can see Derek reading. He can also see Derek masturbating, but - 

‘No. No way. I can’t go there. Lose the thought, Stiles. You’re not going to pop a boner in front of him, thinking about him pulling his pud. Lose it. Lose it. Thoughts gone. Nope, it’s still there. God damn it.’

He must look panic-stricken because Derek’s eyebrow is raised higher than usual.

‘Stop looking so good, damn you. Is that a wolf thing?’

It can’t be, he doesn’t find himself alarmingly attracted to Erica or Scott or Boyd, Isaac does have a sort of “bad boy” air going for him, but he mostly fails in that department, considering how subordinate he is to Scott. No, Derek is different. Derek has an adroitness for getting under his skin and staying there, like an echo, a constant reminder he feels itching below the surface. 

Stiles adjusts his erection as smoothly and inconspicuously as possible, but, damn him, Derek doesn’t miss a thing.

“Shut up,” Stiles snaps, not particularly angry, just annoyed. He’s all discombobulated and needs a second to collect himself.

“I didn’t say anything,” Derek says, his voice dry and low. 

“You just gonna pretend that you didn’t just watch him adjust my junk?” Stiles asks, speaking before thinking. Is it possible for a person to self-combust from mortification? 

Derek shrugs; he fucking shrugs. Like it’s no-big-deal. Like this happens a lot, people constantly adjusting their erections in his presence. 

“Well this has been substantially awkward, for the both of us, so if you wouldn’t mind,” Stiles motions towards the door. 

“Awkward?” Derek repeats.

“Yes, Derek, awkward. Word of the day. Try using it in a sentence, it helps incorporate it into your vocabulary,” Stiles answers, trying his damnedest not to roll his eyes.

“I know what ‘awkward’ means,” Derek growls, narrowing his eyes, his upper lip twitching.

Stiles’ heart jumps. He wonders what Derek’s scruff would feel, if it’d itch.

Derek chooses to ignore Stiles’ request of leaving and slowly removes his leather jacket, his muscles rippling even from beneath his shirt. Stiles tries to look away, but he already has a boner, so what’s the point? 

Derek is built like a statue, impossibly hard, but Stiles knows, even from just looking, he’s smooth as stone, too. All those times he snuck a peek at him with his shirt off run through his head and he presses his hand over his crotch, willing the blood to drain from his cock.

Derek’s nose twitches and Stiles’ stomach sinks. He can smell it, how aroused he is. He can probably smell how hard he is, the slightest bit of pre-come already beginning to ooze from the tip of his cock. But he doesn’t look repulsed, just interested.

“What are you doing?” Stiles asks, gesturing to the leather jacket folded on his bed.

“It’s hot,” Derek says.

Stiles’ eyes widen and he spins in his desk chair, begging his stomach to stop knotting. He clicks the high button on his fan and finds comfort in the sounds of the spinning blades. 

“Better?” he asks.

Derek nods, “Come here.”

“Come where? I’m fine, this seat is actually pretty comfortable,” Stiles says. 

Derek raises an eyebrow, “Come here.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Stiles sits on the bed next to him, and there’s no doubt that Derek can hear how hard and fast his heart is beating. 

“You don’t have to be nervous around me,” Derek says, looking at Stiles, at the cute constellation of moles on his youthful and annoyingly adorable face. Seriously. Who has a face like this? Perfectly upturned button nose, nearly perfect complexion, inhumanly long eyelashes, impossibly big brown eyes. It’s the kind of face Derek would go to war for. 

“Nervous? Pfft, who’s nervous, I’m not nervous,” Stiles lies.

Derek rests a hand on his lap and Stiles self-destructs for a moment.

‘Holy mother. He’s touching me. Like. Literally touching me. And it doesn’t hurt. Not even a little.’

Derek squeezes a little, and with his right hand he forces Stiles to look at him. 

“Do I scare you?” he asks, serious, still.

Stiles gulps. “Uh, um, yeah, a little. But just a little. It’s no big deal. You scare everyone.”

Derek winces, “I don’t want you to be scared of me.” He holds Stiles’ chin for a minute longer before letting him go. “I feel...very territorial towards you.” It’s the first time he’s ever admitted it aloud to himself. He’d been living with the weight of it for months, since the instant he first laid eyes on him in the forest with a dorkier Scott. 

Stiles can’t believe what he’s hearing, so he must be delusional. There’s no way that Derek fucking Hale would ever say that to him. Not after all the times he’s hurt him, pushed him, punched him, abused him in every single way. 

“Territorial?” Stiles repeats slowly, making sure he heard correctly.

“Yes,” Derek says, but doesn’t elaborate.

“Meaning what exactly?” 

It’s cool seeing Derek get a little flustered. Stiles enjoys it just a little to much. 

“Meaning,” Derek starts, trying to word it correctly, “meaning that I have an urge to protect you, to touch you, to be around you. Meaning when I enter I room, it’s your scent I catch first. Meaning I feel sick to my stomach whenever I touch you a little too roughly. Meaning my blood catches fire whenever I see Scott snap at you. Meaning a lot of things, Stiles.”

Jesus. That’s the most words Derek has ever spoken to him and he remembers ever single one of them. He always imagined that there was something between them, an unspoken bond of sorts, but he never believed that it would amount to anything more than a tentative and unsteady friendship. But now Derek is sitting in his room, on his bed, with fingers digging into his legs, admitting his feelings, something Stiles was dubious he even had.

“Well, say something,” Derek says.

Stiles swallows, driving as much courage as he possibly can through his body, and kisses him on the cheek. The stubble feels great.

Derek closes his eyes, relishing in the slow burn he feels coursing in his veins. He focuses on Stiles’ heartbeat, erratic and crazy. 

He can’t stop himself; he grabs either side of Stiles’ face, holding him still, locking their eyes together, feeling the electrical current as it washes from body to body. He kisses him, their lips crashing together; he suppresses the wolf, the urge to just take Stiles right then. He marks him with kisses, nibbling on his neck, his throat, whispering into his ear, something incoherent that Stiles doesn’t catch, his mind is gone.

Stiles’ fingers weave through Derek’s hair and he holds his face closer to him, placing frantic kisses wherever he can. Every kiss feels like fire, and soon he’s consumed by it; his whole body burns, but it’s a good burn, so good.

Derek crawls forward and Stiles falls onto his back; Derek is completely comfortable in the space between Stiles’ legs, it’s like a second home. He grinds their bodies desperately close together, their cocks uncomfortably hard as they rubs against each other through the stupid denim of their jeans. 

Stiles may be a teenage boy, and he thinks about sex a lot, he’s even thought about sex with Derek, but he’s still a virgin, and so very inexperienced when it comes to anything resembling foreplay. He wants to say something, but he doesn’t want Derek to pull away, he doesn’t want Derek to bring his age into this, because Derek is actually a good man, too consumed by his desires at the moment to realize that Stiles is only sixteen. 

Derek pushes Stiles’ shirt up, revealing the smooth, pale chest of someone who hasn’t completely developed. His shoulders aren’t very broad, but he’s lanky and boxy, giving him the appearance of broad shoulders when he’s wearing clothes two sizes too big. He doesn’t see much time on the lacrosse field, so he isn’t very muscular. Junk food hasn’t ruined his thin frame, his metabolism is fast and efficient, but he wishes he didn’t look like an overgrown thirteen-year-old. 

But Derek doesn’t seem to mind, he actually likes the softness of his body, the almost feminine quality it has compared to his. He slips one of Stiles’ small pink nipples into his mouth and sucks, gently biting it. The noise Stiles’ makes forces more blood to Derek’s cock and he bites again, wanting to hear the sound of Stile’s begging. 

He kisses his way down Stiles’ chest, one hand raised and touching his face; Stiles grasps at the fingers and presses them to his lips, kissing and sucking them, driving Derek mad with a frenzy of desire.

Derek effortlessly undoes the buttons of Stiles’ jeans and he tugs them off, leaving on his tight striped boxer briefs. Stiles’ erection bulges, confined and struggling for contact. Derek touches him, massaging him, teasing him. He nibbles on the fabric, on the head of Stiles’ cock through the thin cotton. 

“Fuck,” Stiles gasps, raking his fingernails up Derek’s back; somehow, in all the touching and kissing and groping, Derek managed to remove his shirt and shoes without Stiles noticing. He looks down, at Derek, watching him growl and rub his covered cock on his cheek, kissing and smelling it; their eyes lock and Stiles’ face flushes. 

Slowly, unbearably slow, Derek pulls down the underwear, and Stiles’ cock rises and Derek confirms the rumor about skinny guys and big cocks. He kisses it, licking the tip, lapping at the pre-come that’s already swelling. He seems to enjoy the taste of it. 

Watching Derek suck him, it drives Stiles insane; he looks terrifyingly beautiful, his eyes glowing blue, so overcome with desire that he can’t even keep the beast inside in check anymore. It terrifies and exhilarates him at the same time knowing that at any instant, this could end badly, this could end with Derek biting him, changing him. 

Stiles pulls Derek up and kisses him, fumbling with the buttons on Derek’s jeans. Stiles learns that Derek doesn’t wear underwear, because when he yanks down on the zipper, his cock is suddenly there, enormous and thick and heavy, veins bulging through the thin flesh. Stiles wants nothing more than to taste it, taste the sweat, his balls, the nook where his leg and crotch meet. He can smell the muskiness from where he’s laying and his mouth waters; this is a man’s scent, potent and oh so good. 

Stiles smells like the strawberry body wash he loves so much, which he’s sure is no longer a secret, since Scott and the other werewolves have such an amazing sense of smell. He’s certain that Derek showered before he got here, but not even a hundred showers could mask the natural scent of testosterone that he exudes. And it makes Stiles feel giddy thinking about it. 

He touches Derek’s cock tentatively, and with Derek’s helping hand, his fingers wrap around it.

“It’s yours, all yours,” he moans into Stiles’ mouth. 

Stiles smiles, pleased, and strokes Derek’s cock, hearing Derek groan into his ear. 

“Please,” Stiles begs, nudging Derek’s shoulder with his.

They switch and suddenly Stiles is on top, and Derek rests his head on one arm, the other rubbing in between Stiles’ thighs.

Derek can’t help but think how stunning Stiles looks, his eyes, those fucking achingly big brown eyes that scorch him in the pit of his stomach, half slit as he’s wrecked with pleasure, rubbing their cocks together, feeling the total destructive that is Derek Hale. But even with clothes, he thinks Stiles is beautiful. When he smiles or makes a stupid joke or laughs a little too hard, he’s beautiful. 

Stiles slides down in between Derek’s legs, onto his stomach, and stares at his cock. It’s much too big to fit all the way in his mouth, but that doesn’t stop him from trying. His mind is clouded and he can’t recall anything from the porn he’s downloaded so he does what he thinks is right. He doesn’t focus on just one part, he works the whole thing, paying careful attention not to suck too hard on Derek’s balls. He rotates his hand, making sure every inch of cock is getting serviced. 

Derek gasps, and Stiles feels the burst of encouragement spark in his veins. 

Derek holds himself up on his elbows, his abs covered in a film of sweat and glistening on their own because they’re just that magnificent, and reaches forward, cupping Stiles’ perfect ass. He squeezes the soft flesh and spanks him, loud enough to hear a smack, but not hard enough to actually hurt. Stiles groans and Derek takes the initiative to move forward, pulling his cock out of Stiles’ mouth switching their positions again.

He kisses the small of Stiles’ arched back and he hears his heart catch.

“Are you okay?” he asks, pressing his chest against Stiles’ back and, resting his chin on his shoulder.

Stiles shivers, “I’m scared.”

The realization hits him like a train. Stiles is only sixteen. Stiles is still a virgin. Stiles has probably never actually kissed another person, not like this anyways. Derek relaxes his grip on Stiles’ waist and lays next to him, brushing his fingers over his face.

Stiles buries his face in Derek’s shoulder.

“Don’t hate me,” he whispers.

Derek frowns. “Hate you?”

He looks up, “For being stupid.”

“You’re not being stupid. It’s completely understandable and nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about,” he assures. “We don’t have to...”

Stiles shakes his head. “I want to. I’m just... Is it going to hurt?”

“Yes,” Derek says. “Yes, it’s going to hurt. At first, anyways.”

 

It feels like he’s being split in two. His stomach hurts, his whole body hurts, but he wants it, he wants Derek inside of him, he wants him buried deep, searing himself into him. 

Derek moves slowly, pushing just the tip in, which wouldn’t be so bad if Derek wasn’t so big. He squirts more lube onto his hand and lathers it onto the condom and tries again. Stiles is just too fucking tight. 

Derek works the hole with is fingers first, trying his best to make Stiles relax, telling him that it’ll hurt less if he just relaxes. Stiles doesn’t breathe when the first finger slips in. It isn’t as bad as he thought, but it’s just one finger. Derek tries another, then another, until Stiles is shaking on all fours from the devastating mixture of pleasure and pain. Derek spins his wrist, getting Stiles accustomed to the feeling of movement.

Stiles arches his back, groaning, “More.”

Soon, he’s bucking against Derek’s fingers, begging, pleading, for Derek, for his cock.

In a fluid movement, he pulls his fingers out and replaces the empty feeling inside Stiles with his throbbing cock. 

Stiles screams through gritted teeth, “Fucking fuck.”

Derek massages his fingers into his spine, then his shoulders. 

“Relax,” he whispers.

Stiles isn’t sure that Derek is going to fit all the way, it seems impossible. It’s too big. Just thinking about it, about the pain, makes his eyes water. 

But then Derek does something, moves in a very specific way, and Stiles is paralyzed by the pleasure. It sings through his muscles and he gasps, “Holy mother.” It's like a firework of ecstasy, so hot, so good, so fucking good, and he wants to feel it again, he wants to feel it ringing through him forever.

Derek does it again, rolling his hips, his cock grazing Stiles’ prostate and Stiles cries out Derek’s name and Derek likes it more than he should. It’s like a drug, an addiction, hearing someone moan your name, their voice dripping with unfounded desperation. 

He just keeps saying, “Derek, Derek, Derek, Derek, Derek.”

So Derek does as he’s asked: he fucks him, harder, and harder, faster, pummeling into him until he feels a fire ignite in the pit of his stomach. He’s getting close, but he doesn’t want to come first, he wants to watch Stiles' orgasm drain the color from his face. He flips Stiles onto his back, to watch him, and Stiles suddenly comes without even being touched; come, thick and hot, spurts from his cock and onto his stomach; he’s riddled with pleasure, his eyes rolling to the back of his head and his toes curling, fingers grabbing desperately at wads of blankets. He whimpers “Derek” and shudders, still riding the heat wave of orgasm, the veins in his throat bulging. 

It’s so fucking hot Derek nearly loses it.

“I’m going to...” Derek says, but Stiles tells him to pull out, that he wants to taste him.

Derek does as he’s told and yanks the condom off, stroking himself and pressing his cock to Stiles’ red lips. 

“Open your mouth,” he growls, and Stiles does.

He comes, hard; Stiles swallows it without even cringing, he loves it, loves the taste, loves that it's Derek's; he laps at Derek’s cock, stroking it for more, he needs more, but there isn’t anymore. He’s completely drained, exhausted, he’s never felt anything like this before. 

He collapses on top of Stiles, burying his face into his neck, kissing the supple flesh.

Stiles shudders as his orgasm leaves him numb and throbbing. He touches Derek’s back, tracing his tattoo.

“I love you,” he says, not thinking, just feeling. 

He doesn’t expect Derek to say it back, but he does, and he means it. He holds himself up, arms on either side of Stiles’ head, and he kisses him, gently, softly, tenderly. He breathes him in, he tastes his seed on his tongue, but he doesn’t care, because he loves Stiles, he’s loved him since the first day they met. 

They fall asleep like this, wrapped up in each other’s arms, sweat soaked and worn, Derek’s back healed from scratches, Stiles’ skin marked with purple bruises, but he doesn’t care, because the way he feels, it’s perfect - completely and utterly undone.

**Author's Note:**

> Uh yeah. Thanks for reading. :)


End file.
